The Wolves Within
by pridefulmalady
Summary: Robin of Locksley returns from the Holy Land to find his world torn asunder: his villagers starving, his old friends changed, and his childhood sweetheart wed to his newest foe. Yet all is not what it seems with the new Lady Gisborne. For all that she might smile at the Sheriff in the day; a masked vigilante stalks the streets by night. [S1 AU]


**The Wolves Within**

They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves.

[Matthew 7:15]

**I.**

The first warning that the peasants received of trouble ahead was the thunder of distant hooves. In Locksley, a small village settled by the forest, the villagers stopped their work and looked to the distance. It was there that the second warning could be seen: a thick cloud of dust and debris, rising up from the forest road. It was that what spurred them into action; the villagers threw down their tools and fled for their homes. The third warning soon came out of the trees- armoured guards on horseback, emerging from the dust, adorned in the Gisborne colours of yellow and black.

As the guards rode into the village, they were joined by their master who joined them from the rear. Seated on the largest horse and bedecked in an outfit of expensive, dark leather, it was obvious to all who was in charge here.

At the hand gesture of their master, the guards burst into each house in turn and dragged out the inhabitants. With their thin frames and gaunt features, the villagers were a sickly, impoverished sort; their troubles worsened by the recent heavy tax collection. They were forced to stand, as meekly as sheep, before their lord, heads bowed and arms by their sides.

"Ten sacks of flour have gone missing from our stores," Sir Guy announced, his voice ringing out across the village green. His pale eyes scanned the crowd of villagers, daring the guilty party to step forward. "They will be found. They will be accounted for."

From across the village, two guards emerged from one of the houses. The taller one, his visor pushed back, dumped two sacks of flour at the feet of Guy's horse.

"Found these, sir. The other lot must have been ground up already," he said. His colleague followed, dragging along an unwilling adolescent boy, the evidence of his guilt plastered across his flour-covered clothing.

Guy sighed. "Who helped this…" He scowled down at the struggling boy. "-runt? If you step forward now and admit your guilt, I may be inclined to show lenience. The Sheriff may be inclined to show lenience."

The village remained silent.

"No?" their lord said. "Do not fear. The main perpetrators will be found and they will be punished. Tie the boy up. We'll take him to Nottingham for questioning." The guards pulled the lad forward. He was about fifteen- gangly with no muscle to speak of- but he still fought against them, kicking out at his captors. The guards though soon overpowered him. Subdued, his hands and legs were bound together with rope, the guards then merely throwing him over one of their horses.

His business finished, the knight went to turn his horse towards the manor house. His morning had been a long one and his afternoon was sure to be just as tedious. He drew his lips back and sneered at his captive. The boy looked weak and would talk easily enough. It would barely be worth the four mile ride back to Nottingham.

"Wait!" A voice rang out from the crowd.

Guy halted his horse.

"Someone willing to confess?" he said, turning around to face the crowd.

The villagers were slowly beginning to part, revealing two young men in travel-worn clothes and with swords at their belts. Instinctively, Guy's own hand slipped to the scabbard at his waist but his move was unnecessary. These were no outlaws; the taller of the pair's face implied a noble heritage. An uneasy feeling rose in Guy's gullet. He had seen that face before.

"Guy of Gisborne," the man called out, moving forward.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne to you," one of the guards shot back. "And bow before your master."

The man stepped forward and, throwing his arms out, bowed. "_Sir _Guy of Gisborne," he said, a mocking edge to his voice. "I do not believe we have met. My name is Robin, _Earl_ of Huntington and lord of this manor. The people you seem so willing to discipline are my people. Therefore your services here-" He waved his hand and gestured to the suddenly animate crowd. "-are no longer required."

Guy could only watch, thunderstruck, as Locksley's companion stepped forward and placed the earl's furs around his neck. Around him, the villagers sunk reverently to their knees, all eyes lovingly turned to their returned master.

So the day had finally arrived. Three years of working tirelessly to crush the village's spirit, their continuous urge to resist, undone in only a matter of minutes. From horseback, Guy could only grit his teeth and sullenly bow his own head along with the peasants in the direction of his better, whilst murderous thoughts swam through his mind.

In the main bedchamber of the manor house, Marian was at work, sorting through the linen for the summer. It was the sort of job she loathed- one that kept her inside- and so when the thunder of hooves outside signalled the return of the men, she happily bundled the material into the capable hands of her maid and ran to the stairs.

"Guy?" she called out as she descended. "I had no idea you would be back so soon. I'll have Thornton fetch you something at once and-"

She paused at the foot of the stairs. Before the empty fireplace, a pair of strange men stood, their backs to her and their voices low. Their well-worn clothes and the swords at their waist signalled trouble.

Instinctively, Marian's hand shot to the back of her head, to the pair of decorative hairpins lodged in her dark curls. She removed one, her index finger testing its sharpened blade as she stepped forward, weapon raised.

However, she was beaten to the newcomers by the steward, Thornton, who cheerfully threw his arms around the taller one. This surprise display of affection, from a man well-known for his stoicism, caught Marian off-guard. She hesitated, long enough for Thornton to step back and for her to fully see the face of the newcomer.

_Robin?_ she mouthed. Her arm fell to her side. _Is that really you?_

The traveller's eyes moved from the steward's to hers, the smile on his face freezing as he caught sight of the woman before him.

"Marian," he said. "I- You look-" His eyes scanned over her form- at her long dark curls, the cut of her dress and the richness of its material, before settling on the large ring on her finger. "-well," he finished, his eyes rising to meet hers again.

She blinked- how could she not? One moment she was merely attending to her chores and the next- The next she found herself coming face to face with a man she had long thought lost to her.

He had changed greatly in the five years since their last meeting. He was taller, broader at the shoulders, but still full of the same mad energy of his youth. Even standing still, his body betrayed his errant need to move: his lips widened, his fingers fiddled with a loose strand of his tunic. Yet he was no longer the young man who had rode out of Nottingham five years ago. Whilst his features were still young- he was barely thirty, after all- his eyes now held a hardness that had not been there before the war. It was this hard look that appraised Marian now.

"Locksley." Guy finally appeared at the door. His appearance shattered the spell between the old friends and Marian took this as her opportunity to look away. "I see you've met my lady wife." Guy smirked as he crossed the room and wrapped his arm around Marian's waist, pulling her against him. This surprised her: Guy was rarely so open in his affections in front of others. Under Robin's fixed gaze, she flinched slightly at the sudden touch, shocked as she was by its unexpectedness; but she still accepted his kiss, although she kept her lips firmly closed against his tongue. She didn't have to look sideways to know Robin's gaze was on them. She could sense it crawling across her skin.

"Marian, allow me to introduce…" Guy began as he broke away, but Marian, unthinkingly, interrupted him.

"Robin of Locksley, I know."

"You know?" She sensed Guy stiffen beside her, watched a shadow cast over his face, and silently she cursed herself.

"Robin was a friend of mine when we were younger," she quickly added. "He was a ward of my father at the castle. It is good to see you again, Robin." She managed a polite smile in Robin's direction. He did not respond. Of course, there had to be some good in seeing him again. Just perhaps not now. Not here.

Guy, at least, seemed to buy her words. Leaning down to kiss Marian's forehead, the dark knight then straightened up and took a menacing step towards the other man.

"Welcome home, Locksley," he said, a gruff edge to his voice. "Now, I have taken care of your lands for you, I have managed your estates to the best of my ability, under the guidance of the Sheriff, and-" He took another step forward. "I would expect more respect in front of the populace."

Robin barely flinched as the taller man came closer. His tone was as icy as his eyes:

"How long have you been here?"

"Three years, four winters," Guy replied.

"And yet you still do not have the respect of the populace?"

Guy looked set to impale the smaller man. It was all Marian could do to cross to his side and place herself between the pair.

"Enough of that," she said, looking back over her shoulder at the two newcomers crossly. Her anger at least left the smaller one looking suitably shame-faced. Robin however was smiling again- not the happy grin he had bestowed on Thornton, but something far less friendly. He looked as if he was savouring every minute of this.

The fool, she thought, bitterly. She should have just as well let Guy finish him.

She turned her attention back to Guy who finally seemed calm enough to speak: "My men will leave directly for Nottingham. As will my wife and I."

"My servants will help them pack."

Behind Guy, Thornton was already spurring into action, whispering orders to the servants and sending them on their way. Robin's return had not only proved to rile up Guy's temper, Marian thought, it was effectively leaving them homeless. For all his influence over the poor, Guy's wealth was tied to his management of the Locksley estates, having been bestowed them by his liege lord, the Sheriff. The rightful lord having returned meant either a move to re-join the Sheriff's household at the castle or to her father's house at Knighton Hall. Neither prospect filled Marian with much enthusiasm.

"Council of Nobles is tomorrow at Nottingham. You will do good for going. I'm sure the Sheriff will throw celebrations of some sort for your return. He will be… eager to make your acquaintance, I assume," said Guy. His gaze fell back on Marian. "Come, we had better leave Locksley here to settle in. We'll send someone later to arrange for the removal of our things."

"One thing," said Robin, just as they were about to step outside. "I would like to celebrate my safe return too. I would like to celebrate my return by having all men from my estate pardoned if they are awaiting trial or punishment. Especially young Benedict out there."

"Only the Sheriff may pardon, you know that," Guy sneered, turning back to look at the other man.

"And I know that it is the Sheriff's duty to accede to his nobles' requests."

Guy's smirk only widened. "Well, I will advise you then to take it up with the Sheriff. Come along, wife."

"Lady Knighton." Marian froze; beside her, Guy stiffened. Really, she thought. Was that the best he could do?

"Lady Gisborne," Guy all but snapped.

Turning away from her husband, Marian coolly looked back over her shoulder at her childhood friend. Whereas war had strengthened his body, his stance remained that of the boy she had known years before. Beneath the same fringe of sandy hair, his face was alight with impish mischief- the same expression he would wear when, as a child, he would pull her hair. It was the same eager look: the anticipation for a response. He was riling her up, calling her out on her old temper. He was trying to draw something out of her; a spark, perhaps, of the old her.

But he was mistaken. He would get nothing from her.

"It was good to see you again, Lady Gisborne. I hope I can make your acquaintance again soon."

No, Robin, she thought, as her husband's grip on her hand became painfully tight and he all but dragged her outside. Don't hope for that. Hope for the road and a ship. Take your things and your friend and go back to the east. Go back to your desert. Go back to your wars, and your glory, and your precious king. The Nottingham you thought would be waiting for you had long gone. There was no welcome for you there.

"Married, Much, and to that!"

Shoulders deep in warm, rose-scented water and with a hunk of pork in his hands, the last thing Much wanted to hear and see was his former master pacing around the bedchamber in mid-rant.

"Even you wondered if she had moved on." Much tried to appease him, albeit only after he had swallowed a good portion of the pork.

"But to be married to that?" Robin angrily smacked his hands down hard against the side of the tub sending water flying out. "You saw how he was with the people. You saw how poor the people are. I mean, the Scarletts…" His reunion with the Scarlett family's patriarch still tasted bitter to him. Dan Scarlett, the man who had crafted half of Locksley himself, had lost not only his wife but his hand to the new Sheriff's money-making schemes. And Gisborne, by the sounds of it, had not only supported this, but had actively partaken in its execution. The thought that Marian, his Marian, could be willingly married to such a man… It sickened him. It tore at him. What had this world come to.

"There must be a reason," he said. Yes, there had to be. "Come, Much. Let's ride to Knighton; pay Sir Edward a visit. If anyone knows what's been going on, it'll be her father."

Much groaned aloud; he couldn't help himself. This was his first bath in months. His first bath since the dusty bathhouse at Acre. And the loin! So crisp and tender. It was his first taste of Locksley pork in years! Only Robin's old cook knew the best way to season the meat, the right amount of time to roast it for. Much took another bite; it was even glazed with honey!

"Sorry, my friend, I forgot," Robin said, his tone softening as he looked over at his loyal companion's incredulous expression. "I gave you your freedom. Stay as long as you wish. I'll be back in time for the feast." And with that, he grabbed his swordbelt and left, his riding boots clattering loudly against the wooden stairs.

Much sighed, leant back further into the bath water, closed his eyes. Of course, he was a free man now. Not only that, he was a landowner now, with Robin's gift of the village of Bonchurch and its surrounding estate. He was a made man now. A man with income. If he wanted to, he could remain in the bath all day, eat as much roasted meat as he desired and…

"Robin!" he called, hastily standing up. "Wait for me!"

Seated upon the dark throne of his solar, sheltered in the shadows of the dimly lit room, Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, listened attentively to Guy's retelling of the events at Locksley. Several times, he nodded; murmured even. Only once his lieutenant had finished speaking had he thrown back his balding head and roared with laughter.

"My lord." Guy watched his superior incredulously. Had the man been taken mad all of a sudden? "This is grave news. Without control over the Locksley estates-"

"You won't get the opportunity to play high and mighty lord and master?" Vaisey spoke in a mocking simper as his cold gaze fell back onto Guy. "You lose your standing because soldier boy's got bored of playing war games and come back home? Never fear, Gisborne, you will have it back. All of it. Give me a month and the boy will be off fighting the Turk before you know it."

"My lord, he requested the release of prisoners from his estate-"

"Request denied, Gisborne." Vaisey was already bored of the topic. His attention returned back to his goblet of wine. "Locksley will soon learn who's really in charge here. Will that be all?" At the foot of his throne, a page boy cowered as he massaged the Sheriff's feet.

"Yes, my lord," replied Guy.

"Good. Now off you pop. I want that Locksley boy squealing. I want a list of names and a hanging or three."

"Yes, my lord." Guy moved for the door.

"And Gisborne, I assume you're using your old chambers now that Locksley has your manor."

"Yes, and-"

"I suppose our dear Lady Gisborne will be living in the castle as well."

"Yes, but-"

"Oh, goody," the Sheriff said, although his tone suggested it was anything but. He drained the goblet before tipping the remaining dregs over the bent head of the servant at his feet. "More incentive to get Locksley back."

On horseback, the ride from Locksley to Knighton took less than an hour, down forest trail and across fields. Both villages were part of two wider neighbouring estates; each held by a noble family that had descended from the early lords under the Conqueror.

Knighton village itself was smaller than Locksley and, in Robin's youth at least, had been not as prosperous. Locksley, being closer in distance to Nottingham, had been able to sell excess produce at the market. The people of Knighton, their village being more isolated, tended towards only producing enough to sustain themselves.

Yet, Robin noted as he rode through the village, compared to the Locksley of that morning, the people of Knighton were doing far better under this new Sheriff. Most of the serfs and freemen were out toiling their strips, but the ones Robin did see had a far better look than his own people- they were much better fed and their clothes looked in far better condition. The sight of this infuriated him- what was going on?- and only made him drive his horse harder, straight to the door of Knighton Hall.

Riding into the stables, Robin barely waited for his horse to halt; merely swinging his leg over the saddle and gracefully hopping down. A stable boy raced forward and took the stallion, as well as Much's, whilst the two men marched up to the house.

"Robin," Much said, cautiously watching his former master adjust his sword belt. "You don't mean to-"

"I mean to have a chat with Sir Edward," he replied, before looking aghast at his friend. "What did you- how could you- A chat. That is all."

At the door, they were greeted by the weary steward.

"No visitors," the old man barked, waving them away. "My master is trying to sleep and I will not have him disturbed."

Whoever the man was, neither Robin nor Much had any recollection of him, either at the hall or at the castle.

"I'm an old friend of the Sh- of Sir Edward's."

"No visitors," the little man exclaimed, yet again. "Please call back at another time."

"You don't understand. I'm-"

"No visitors. Please leave."

His body exhausted and sore from his travels and his already fraught temper fraying at the seams, Robin turned his gaze to the heavens; a tirade of swear words falling out from under his breath. His words were of no language that the steward could comprehend yet the action was uncouth enough. The pompous man looked fit to burst with indignation at such talk. Hastily, Much stepped in.

"What my master meant to say before he was interrupted-" he quickly said. "-was that he is Robin, Earl of Huntington and Lord of Locksley. He has recently returned from the Holy Land and wishes to speak urgently with your own master."

The steward stared between the pair uneasily. Whilst the heady scent of roses hung heavily over Much, Robin was still bedecked in his worn and smelly travelling clothes.

"Phillip?" A weak voice piped up from within the hall. "Who is it?"

The steward hesitated for a second, before calling back to his master: "Visitors, my lord. Claiming to be Locksley and- No! Get out!" Robin shoved the man easily aside and stormed inside the manor, closely followed by Much.

The atmosphere of the hall was stifling. Within the main room, a large fire blazed and the heat of it hit the travellers at almost the instance they crossed the threshold. Even whilst being used to the deserts of the Holy Land, the warmth of the room came as a shock to the crusaders and not a pleasant one at that.

"Robin," the weak voice sounded again. It came from a chair set before the fire where a small elderly man sat. "Is that really you?"

"Sir Edward?" Robin could hardly believe his eyes. Five years ago, Sir Edward Fitzwalter had waved Robin and his men off from the steps of Nottingham Castle. Even then, he had been old- having reached his sixtieth decade only weeks before- but still with the physique and brain of a man at his prime. What lay before Robin now was only a hollowed out remain of the man he had been.

"Robin," the shell said, leaning weakly back in his chair by the fire. A blanket had been lovingly tucked around his knees even in the heat of the room. "You've grown so."

Overcome with emotion at the sight of his former guardian, Robin crossed the small room and knelt before the lord, clasping the aged hands into his.

"My lord," he said. "I only arrived back this morning and everything-" His mind crossed to the memory of Locksley and its people but any anger had dissipated. "Everything has changed. Locksley. Marian. What happened?"

Behind him, Phillip rushed in, his round face flushed with anger.

"My lord," he cried. "I will summon the guards at once. How dare you enter our master's home uninvited? Be off with you now or face the wrath of your betters!"

In his chair, Sir Edward leant forward, his weary grey eyes scanning Robin's face.

"Go now," he wheezed, snatching his hand away from Robin's with as much strength as he could muster. "Go! Wretches! Liars! Thieves!"

Robin did not move; he could not comprehend it. What was going on? What had happened to everything? To everyone? A lump clawed at his throat as he watched the man before him struggle in his chair. The home he had thought waiting for his return- the family even- had truly gone.

It was only Much's insistent hand on his shoulder that brought him back to his feet. The fire continued to crackle behind them; Phillip was still screaming blue murder.

"Marian?" Robin cried. "What about her? We were all but married before I left. How long was I gone before you married her off to that scum? That Gisborne fellow?"

His remark had the desired effect. Something seemed to flash in Sir Edward's aged eyes. Anger? Hurt? Recognition? Yet any answer that the old man could give them was lost to a coughing fit. Whatever emotion was there was lost to tears as the old man rolled forward, his chest heaving. His steward hastily pushed Much aside and ran to his master's side, tenderly rubbing his back and making soothing noises.

"Look what you have done. Be gone," he spat over his shoulder. "And make sure you never return."

Quaking, his body shaking with raw anger and shock, Robin could only watch the scene aghast; a silent tear rolling down his cheek. It was Much who finally broke the spell- grabbing his master's arm and dragging him backwards, out of the hellishly warm room and out into the cool April afternoon and into this distorted world.


End file.
